


To Times once Forgotten

by rangerhitomi



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>when Mizael relives his memories of his past life, Durbe is there to comfort him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Times once Forgotten

Something’s changed in Durbe since they began this inane mission to collect the “legendary Numbers.” He’s more reserved, more serious (Mizael had thought it impossible for Durbe to be more serious than he already was), and even though he rejected at first the foolish idea that he had possibly been a human in a past life – the whole idea makes Mizael scoff in disgust – now he’s starting to entertain the idea.

He confronts Durbe about it

_I refuse to believe this nonsense, how can you think this is anything more than a trick to demoralize us, none of it is real_

and Durbe just stares out at their world, crumbling around them, and there’s a sad look in his eyes, and Mizael can’t help but think that if Barians were capable of shedding tears, Durbe might be doing just that.

“It is real,” he says finally, and he turns to look at Mizael, but his sorrow gives way to surprise as he finds Mizael standing directly behind him.

Mizael wishes desperately that Durbe would have worn his cloak so he had something to grab, to shake Durbe and hiss _no it’s not, you idiot, we’re Barians and not humans_ but his hands figure out too late that Durbe is unclothed and he ends up with his hands resting awkwardly on Durbe’s chest, millimeters from his main gem. Durbe’s eyes flicker downward and he looks taken aback for a moment but he returns his gaze to Mizael, who is doing his best to pretend he’s not embarrassed about the placement of his hands.

“It is real,” Durbe repeats, but his normally firm voice wavers a little. He lifts his hands to Mizael’s and holds them for a moment too long before pulling them off his chest.

“Why are you so sure?” and Mizael wishes Durbe would touch his hands again, because it was _reassuring_ , and god knows he needed reassurance at that moment.

Durbe looks uncertain, with his head tilted to the side and his downcast eyes staring unseeingly at a crystal spire nearby. “I went back.”

This is news to Mizael, though it explains why Durbe would sometimes disappear for long periods of time lately and reappear with his body trembling and his breathing ragged. “Why?”

“I needed to know.” Durbe turns his eyes back on Mizael’s, and his determined expression returns. “I needed to know if…” He takes a deep breath. “Mizael, I was a knight. In a distant kingdom. My own friends turned on me, they killed my companion; my own _friends_ plunged their swords into my body and-”

Mizael instinctively reaches out and grabs Durbe by the shoulders as Durbe’s legs quiver and threaten to give out on him. Now it’s Durbe’s turn to find a place on Mizael’s chest for his hands to go, only he can’t make up his mind and ends up placing them on Mizael’s collarbones.

Durbe closes his eyes, shakes his head. “It was real, Mizael. All of this is real.”

If it is true, Mizael wonders grimly (which he’s still not convinced it is; it could be an elaborate plot by the Astral World to send these Numbers imprinted with false memories to weaken the Barians’ resolve), does he really want to see the memories that are supposedly his? He heard the legend from the old man.

He heard how the legendary dragon master was killed.

“I think we should all go back to our ruins,” Durbe whispers, finally pulling away from Mizael. “We should all know our pasts… so we can better prepare for the future.”

“I don’t want to go back.” Mizael’s being childish, but he doesn’t care. “The ruins aren’t even intact anymore.”

“They don’t have to be,” Durbe insists. “Many of the panels that my legend was written on were inaccessible but I could still… sense it, just from being there.”

Mizael closes his eyes and clenches his fists. He knows if he argues any more about it, Durbe’s going to order him to go anyway. “Will you come with me?”

Durbe’s eyes narrow in confusion. But he seems to understand. If it was true, Mizael is about to relive how he had once died. He nods and they return to the human world together.

—-

It’s nearing sunset when they arrive, and the peak that had once housed his ruins is a mound of rubble now. His chest constricts and he lets out a muttered oath, and Durbe lifts his small human hand to Mizael’s shoulder and gives it what might be a reassuring squeeze.

But Mizael barely registers Durbe’s touch, his voice, his concern, as he sinks to his knees and covers his ears against the sudden voices surrounding him.

—-

He’s gazing at a dragon; its body is snakelike, but with arms and claws and wings that look softer than anything he had ever seen before. He extends a hand, and the dragon nuzzles its face into it and it’s… soft, like good cloth. He strokes it gently and a name slips from his tongue – _Jinlong_.

—-

The rains are especially bad this year, and the river floods, wiping out dozens of homes and destroying a solid third of the season’s harvest. Mizael does his best to help rebuild when the rains stop and the river recedes, but there’s nothing to be done about the ruined food. The people are going to have a major food shortage this year, and he weeps with them.

—-

A man arrives in the village one day during a village meeting. Mizael is in the middle of a proposal for a rationing system when the man interrupts.

“Solutions such as these are short term. Do you not think we should seek to rid the land of the problem?”

Mizael doesn’t understand. “The river flooded. It is tragic, but that is the course of Nature.”

The man points up toward Mizael’s home atop the bluff overlooking the village. Jinlong is clearly visible. “I am a holy man. I sensed a great evil from there. One that is an omen sent to destroy this land.”

There is an outbreak of angry murmuring at this.

“Mizael has been nothing but a good help to us for many years,” one man protests.

“He and his companion have defended us from danger and helped us in times of need,” a woman agrees.

“How is it my friend is an omen?” Mizael demands.

The holy man holds up his hand. “Of course, you would not accept the word of an outsider over the word of a trusted friend. But I promise you, this flooding is the least of your concerns. Greater sorrows will befall your land. I have seen it in a dream.”

There is a nagging sense of suspicion in the back of Mizael’s mind but he can’t express it in words. He adjourns the meeting and they return to their homes for the night.

—-

He wakes up, late in the night, and the earth is shaking. He grabs his shirt and hurries as much as he can down his bluff, disregarding the danger of a landfall, and when he reaches the village the earth has stopped shaking and many homes he had helped to rebuild after the floods are damaged again. 

—-

Mizael holds a small child as she cries into his arms and forces himself to hold back the sickness welling in his stomach and throat. The food storage is almost depleted thanks to an infestation of crickets. Even looking at it causes many villagers to sick up.

First the rains, then the earthquake, and now this; he hears them wondering if maybe the holy man had been right after all.

—-

He faces the villagers, arms outstretched, and pleads with them. They are angry about their food, and rightfully so, but their anger is misplaced and they want to kill Jinlong. 

_My friend is not responsible._

_Please believe me._

But they don’t, and he sees but one alternative.

He draws his sword and holds it in front of him, the tip of the blade pressing gently into his throat. “My friend is not responsible. I stake my life on it. If I give up my life, will you believe me?”

But his life is not enough for the holy man.

Far too late, Mizael realizes his ultimate goal – to draw the villagers together.

To turn them against him.

How easy would it be to take over a land protected by a dragon and his warrior if that dragon and his warrior were no longer supported by the people?

He sees the archers and turns toward Jinlong when he hears the arrows whistle past, hears Jinlong’s scream of pain, and he lets out a cry of anguish of his own at the sight of the arrows peppering Jinlong’s face and eyes before he feels the first arrow penetrate his leg. He grits his teeth to hold back the whimpers and drags himself to his friend, his faithful companion-

Another arrow pierces his side, his shoulder, his arm. He thinks he might be crying out in pain but he can’t register anything as his blood pours out and he collapses on top of his dragon.

_I’m sorry I failed to protect you_ , he thinks dimly.

Another brief, sharp pain in his back and-

—-

His eyes snap open; he’s _screaming_ , he can feel the arrows in his body now, he can feel every one of them-

“Mizael!”

He feels something else now; a soft hand on his face, brushing away the streaks of moisture, another hand rubbing his back, and he looks up into a pair of terrified grey eyes.

“Durbe,” he whimpers, and he falls forward into Durbe’s chest and lets Durbe stroke his hair and hold him. He can’t stifle the tears, can’t control the _why, why, why_ , because he still _feels them_ , still feels the arrows in his skin, and Durbe seems to understand -

Durbe always understands

-because he’s murmuring _it’s over, Mizael, it’s over_ and tightens his grip on Mizael’s shoulders and even rests his chin on the top of Mizael’s head.

After a while, Mizael composes himself and pulls away, though Durbe rests his hand gently on Mizael’s and Mizael doesn’t object.

It’s good to know someone cares about him, good to know someone is there for him.

“I’m ashamed,” he whispers.

“It’s natural,” Durbe says quietly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, it’s only-” He realizes what he’s saying and stops.

_Only human_ , Mizael knows he was about to say, but they’re not human, they’re _Barians._

He can’t even convince himself of that now. Not after this.

“Anyway, I let myself do it too, for much longer.” Durbe gazes up at the sky, turning brilliant hues of pink and gold and purple, so much different from the constantly dark skies of Barian. It’s beautiful, in its own way, even if this world is full of hatred and war and destruction and suffering, even if this world was _ugly_. “I couldn’t bring myself to move after experiencing what I did.”

Mizael feels an overwhelming sorrow for Durbe, who had to endure the memories in his ruins on his own, and had no such support to lift him as he lay sobbing on the ground with the feeling of swords piercing his body over and over again.

He wishes he could have been there for Durbe, but it’s too late now.

“Why?” he whispers. “Why… if we’re… if we were human… what is our purpose?”

Durbe shakes his head. As he stands, he holds his hands out to Mizael, both of them; Mizael takes them without hesitation and lets Durbe help him up. He holds them still, and feels the need to tell Durbe how the dragon master died. Durbe told him how the knight died; it’s only fair.

“He was betrayed by his people.”

An odd look fills Durbe’s eyes. A kind of sympathy, he thinks. It is, after all, a familiar theme to Durbe.

_My own friends turned on me, they killed my companion; my own friends plunged their swords into my body…_

“He was shot half a dozen times with arrows, after watching his best friend die.”

Durbe leans forward without warning and wraps his arms around Mizael’s waist, burying his head into Mizael’s shoulder. He is so small - so much smaller than Mizael, anyway - but the comfort he gives is more than Mizael could ever ask for.

Mizael holds Durbe close and Durbe grips Mizael back and holding Durbe like this is everything he ever wanted except for the overwhelming feeling in his heart that gently corrects him-

_**I** was betrayed by my people._

_**I** was shot half a dozen times with arrows, after watching my best friend die._

He can feel Durbe’s body shake just enough to know his comrade is crying and this time he doesn’t feel ashamed when he lets his own tears fall so they can mourn their companions’ deaths and their own deaths and their fears for their futures, together.


End file.
